Taking Control
by InfiniteGalaxies
Summary: James Moriarty is bored. So, Sherlock Holmes seems like a nice distraction. A text off Jim warns Sherlock that he's back, leaving him rather vunerable. What will happen when Moriarty sneaks into Sherlock's flat in the dark? What if John returned from his date early... Wouldn't that be tragic... Read and review! Probably there will be lemons. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Texting Torments

It was unusual, to say the least, that James Moriarty would text Sherlock when he was not plotting some form of evil plan to take over the world, or whatever he did to challenge himself against Sherlock, the only man for whom he saw the glimmer of an equal. An opposite. He strolled along the busy London streets, sunglasses on, phone in hand, texting away. To any passer-by he would have seemed a perfectly innocent man, enjoying the sun and perhaps texting his wife or friends. But James Moriarty, oh, no. He wasn't texting a wife, a friend, not even a colleague. He was texting Sherlock Holmes. He grinned as he texted, gleefully celebrating the genius level he had achieved, how little he had let on to Sherlock and oh, what a big surprise he was going to get.

Hi, Sherlock. JM

He waited, tapping his thumb against the screen and, sure enough, Mr Holmes texted back almost immediately.

Hello. What do you want? SH

Jim raised his eyebrows. Blew out slightly and texted him back.

Well, well, well... I WAS being friendly. Nice one, Sherlock. Well, it's definitely happening, now. JM

What do you mean? You're not making any sense. What's definitely happening, now? SH

He laughed to himself, causing a man passing him by to jump, slightly. Jim smirked.

Oh, you'll see, Sherlock. You'll see. JM

He smiled to himself, satisfied. Ooh, another text... He smirked.

Tell me. What are you talking about? SH

Jim considered for a moment, walking forwards a few steps, then pausing to sit on a wall. He thought long and hard... What answer would strike fear into the heart of Sherlock Holmes? That is, if he had one...

That's for me to know and you to find out. JM

He smirked again and shifted himself off the wall, putting his phone back into his pocket and sauntered off.

Sherlock stared long and hard at his phone. For him to know and Sherlock to find out? Well, it most certainly was. But why did it sound as if Moriarty was mocking him? Probably because he was. He usually did, seemed to like to tease Sherlock. Irene Adler had told him that Moriarty called Mycroft Holmes the Ice Man and himself, Sherlock Holmes, The Virgin. Which was, true, actually. No one knew, exactly. No one was close enough to him to find out. He smiled. No one _would_ find out, if he had anything to do with it. It was his personal business. Why would anyone want to know, anyway? He tapped back a reply to Jim.

Oh, I will do. Don't you worry. SH

And he carried on looking through his microscope at the wriggling bacteria below.  
Though, he was agitated. He kept checking his phone. No messages.  
He tried to concentrate again, making notes, pushing his phone away and turning his head away from it.  
Though, as soon as it lit up again, he pounced on it.  
"Someone special?" came a voice from above him. Sherlock jumped. John. He looked up at him.  
"No," he said, perhaps a little too quickly, "I – I just need to concentrate..." he mumbled. John nodded, looking as if he really didn't believe him.  
"Yeah," he leaned over Sherlock's shoulder, "Of course," he took a moment to read the text that Sherlock was showing him. He frowned, "Moriarty? What's he talking about?" Sherlock shrugged, putting the phone aside and looked through the microscope again, twirling a knob on the side to zoom in slightly and another to focus better. John eyed him suspiciously.  
"You know, you're acting very oddly, Sherlock," he mused, folding his arms and walking around the table to face him. He bent down to eye level. Sherlock looked up from the microscope.  
"What?" he said, a slight irritation in his voice.  
"Nothing, nothing..." John gave him a quick smile and picked up his jacket, putting it over his arm. He turned back to Sherlock, one hand on the door, "I'm going out, Sherlock," he told him. Sherlock had gone back to his bacteria. He waited for a response, but there was none. He looked out of the door, then back to the working man, "Aren't you going to ask where I'm going?" he asked, in a bored voice.  
"You're going on a date," said Sherlock, not looking up from his work, "It's a double date, so you're not too nervous, there should be plenty of conversation. Fairly posh restaurant, that's why you're dressed quite smartly, but also quite casual, to show that you're keen, but not too over keen, trying to give the impression that you go to these kinds of places all the time." He looked up, smiling, "Have a nice time, John." John paused for a moment, giving Sherlock that familiar hopeless look, then shook his head, laughing.  
"Thank you, Sherlock," he looked at him, then walked out of the door, "I'll text you if I'm staying out!" he called as he closed the door. The sound of the door closing sounded loud in the quiet flat. Sherlock instantly stopped working and ran both his hands through his hair. He _had_ to know what Jim was talking about. He really didn't like not knowing...


	2. Quiet as a Mouse

"Okay, Miss Adler, see ya!" Jim put down the phone, breathing out. And flopping down on the couch. He flicked his shoes up onto the couch and crossed his legs, leaning back over the arm.  
"Everything okay, Jim?" asked a voice from somewhere behind him. James smiled to himself.  
"Yes, thank you, Sebby," Jim replied, closing his eyes and smiling, "Everything is just perfect..." He heard a light snigger.  
"I take it you'll be seeing Sherlock tonight, then?" Seb asked, stepping closer. Jim chuckled.  
"Oh yeah!" he said, hoisting himself up and turning to smile at him. Seb laughed.  
"Have a nice time," he said, clapping him softly on the shoulder, "Text me if you need me, you know where I am, James," he squeezed his shoulder lightly and turned to walk away, again. Jim levered himself up and smiled, adjusting his suit and making his way out of the room.

Sherlock curled up on the couch, watching his phone intently on the coffee table. He lay very still, listening to every sound. He could do this for nights, waiting for Moriarty...  
He let his mind travelled on to other things. He thought briefly about Lestrade – he'd not been called in to a case for a while... He hadn't seen Anderson for a while, then. He preferred that. The look of annoyance that he got of Anderson every time he turned up at a case was annoying enough. And Sally Donovan. He quickly changed his train of thought, driving it in a different direction. He focused, instead on John. He wondered what he was doing. Well, of course, he would be standing awkwardly in the restaurant, pretending he was feeling comfortable, ordering a starter. Sherlock rolled over and clutched at his head. _This was driving him insane_. Every creak, every movement, made him start, make him think... Even _hope_... But he knew. Oh, Sherlock knew if it was him. Of course he would know. James Moriarty was not a man, as Sherlock had pointed out before, he was a spider. So he would not just do what any other man would do, he would know what he was doing, know what Sherlock's obvious strengths and weaknesses were, know how to manipulate him.  
"If Lestrade would bother looking, I might have a case," Sherlock muttered angrily, making his way over to John's laptop, aiming to read some of his emails to entertain himself. And that's when he heard it. A small creak. Almost inaudible. But Sherlock's bat-like hearing picked it up. He paused, breathing shallowly. He listened.

Halfway up the stairs of 221b, James Moriarty grinned as he stepped on the creaky stair. He paused, a gleeful grin lighting up his mischievous look. He enjoyed the feeling of anticipation coming from somewhere above him, where he knew that Sherlock would be feeling nervous. He decided to pause for around ten minutes, leaving Sherlock in suspense. Yes, he thought, deciding, that is how he'd play it.

Above him, Sherlock unfroze and began pacing. He knew that if that was Moriarty, he would have stopped, would have wound Sherlock up even more. So was it Moriarty? The minutes went by and Sherlock had to accept that it may just have been a... mouse? Probably. Or it could have been his over-active brain. He clutched his head once again and looked up. And then he heard a noise outside of the door. He dismissed it after a couple of minutes, after hearing a scuttle. A mouse.

Jim Moriarty laughed silently, squatting down and tapping the floor, imitating the sound of a mouse. Oh, Sherlock, he thought silently as he heard the other man walk away towards his bedroom, you really are a complete idiot. And with that, he smirked, stood up, slowly and silently, and placed his hand on the door. Unlocked... How odd... Or perhaps, perhaps Sherlock wanted... Yes, he would want to know.

Sherlock lay in bed, his knees tucked up to his chin and his eyes staring straight at the wall ahead. He narrowed the bright blue stars and bit his lip. It was so annoying, not knowing, especially when it concerned Jim Moriarty. Moriarty. He thought bitterly, and forced himself to think of other things. He did not notice the bedroom door open, as he had his back to it and was currently playing a game of chess with himself in his brilliant mind. He jumped as he heard the sound of Jim clearing his throat slightly.  
"James Moriarty," Sherlock stated, not moving, not blinking. Jim smiled at the door, a reptilian smile that highlighted his evil. He cocked his head.  
"Hi, Sherlock," he said, then sounded disappointed, "Not want to give me a friendly greeting? Invite me in? Make me welcome? A cup of tea would be _lovely_, you've no idea how –" Sherlock snapped.  
"_Oh, what do you want_?" he hissed, turning the top half of his body around to look at him. "Send me all them texts, keep me on the edge –" he lifted his head up more, "How long _did_ you stay on the stairs for?" he did not wait for an answer, but carried on, Jim's smile widening and a small chuckle escaping his lips as Sherlock wound himself up, more and more... "And then you waltz in here, expect a friendly greeting, oh, Moriarty, I think we're past that, don't you? From what you've just made me do, you've made me rather frustrated because _I didn't know_. Exactly what you wanted to hear. I didn't know what you were doing. Oh, wait, but I did, at the same time. I didn't know exactly _what_ but I knew your game, James, I knew what you were doing. Make me uptight and touchy. Make me vulnerable, make me weak. Yes, it worked. Why?" Sherlock pierced him with bright blue eyes and James Moriarty shrugged.  
"I was bored." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  
"You were bored." He said, dully. Then he laughed, "You were bored," he repeated again. Then he stopped laughing and looked over at James, who had raised an eyebrow, amused.  
"Oh, stop it!" Sherlock said, rolling back over and wrapping his arms around his legs and pressing his forehead against his knees. "Leave me alone."  
Whatever Sherlock had expected, what happened next was completely unexpected. He did not expect to feel a pressure pressing down on the bed and a few seconds late feel a pair of arms snaking around either side of his waist. He did not expect the hands to clutch at his purple shirt and even less the cheek on his back. He didn't expect the legs, crouching up to meet his own. He didn't expect the warm James Moriarty to curl around his and squeeze. And then, slowly, Sherlock realised. _It was a hug_.


	3. Unexpected Kisses

Sherlock paused for a few moments, rigid in the embrace. Then he attempted to crane his head round to look for the grin that he could feel against his back.  
When he realised that the laws of physics would not allow that, he attemted to wriggle out of his grasp - which only made Moriarty cling on tighter.  
"I don't think so, Sherlock," he purred, cheek still pressed against the purple shirt, "I'm stronger than you, tonight."  
At these words, plans of escape began to run through the detective's brilliant mind - none of which, however, could possibly throw off James Moriarty.  
It was at this point which the brilliant mind began to think... Why did Sherlock want to throw him off? It was strange, he didn't usually like physical contact of this sort; he found it unnessecary and irritating.  
Yet, there was something about the way Jim held on to him, something about Moriarty himself that made Sherlock want those arms around his slim waist. It was a comfort to feel someone who was as alone in the world as he was with their cleverness.  
So, after much deliberation and a slight struggle, Sherlock relaxed. Though still tense at the thought of what could possibly come after their warm embrace, of course.

As a leg wound itself around Sherlock's, he flinched slightly, wondering what its motives were. But it merely entangled itself around Sherlock's own, drawing them closer together and pulling his legs out straighter. He tried to turn at this, yet Jim kept him in place.  
"No," he whispered, bringing his lips to brush against Sherlock's ear as he spoke softly, his voice silky, yet laced with poison.

Then, he turned Sherlock on to his back, rather surprised at how little fuss he was putting up. He quickly sat on top of the taller man, in order to keep him in place, legs astride him and hands pinning his arms down. Sherlock frowned as Jim bent towards him, once again, to whisper in his ear.  
"You want to know what I was talking about?"  
Sherlock nodded, curtly.  
"Yes."  
Raised eyebrows from the man on top of him told Sherlock that it wasn't going to be as easy as that.  
"Does it really annoy you when you don't know something?"  
"Yes."  
"It must be really annoying."  
"It is."  
"So this must be reeeeeally annoying for you, then."  
Sherlock gritted his teeth.  
"Yes, well done."  
"Oh, it's killing you!" Jim shrieked softly into his ear, gleeful at the other man's irritation.  
"Tell me." came the order, as the other man pushed himself up so that they were nose to nose. Sherlock could feel the warm breath tickling his cheeks.  
"Fine," Moriarty said, looking deep into the blue eyes as he pressed his lips against Sherlock's, taking the other's briefly in his own before pulling away and grinning at the astonished look.  
Sherlock said nothing.  
"How could I resist?" Jim asked, sitting up straight, arms still pinning Sherlock's to the bed - although from the amount of shock that he was in, that wasn't really necessary. The detective watched him, dazed.  
"You're the only one who has ever rivalled me and almost equalled me - infact, I'd say you probably have done on more than one occasion. We're one and the same, but oh so so so so different. Our choices, our decisions are one of the differences that make us who we are. And oh, so irresistable." Jim was smiling through his words, his voice dripping with the want to reach down and kiss those soft lips again... But yet he resisted, knowing that the other would not, _could_ not, hold off for much longer.

And he was not mistaken. As Jim began to reel off more differences and similarities, tauning Sherlock and praising him, Holmes sat up suddenly. Leaving Jim to now straddle his pelvis area as he grabbed the arms that had pinned him down and pulled Moriarty towards him, bringing their lips together once again and kissing him hard.

After a few seconds, they pulled apart, panting slightly and their eyes wild. However, Moriarty managed to keep a certain cool about him. This was reflected as he calmly pushed a strand of black, curly hair back from Sherlock's face. His fingers trailed over the sharp cheekbones.  
"So beautiful," he muttered, glancing back into Sherlock's eyes. They were hard, glaring back at Jim, as if somehow accusing him for his own actions. Jim picked up and shook his head, "You kissed me, dearie," he pointed out, letting his finger glide to Sherlock's mouth, where he now traced his thumb across the slightly damp lips, "And therefore that was more your fault than it was mine."  
He paused briefly to bring their faces close once again.  
"But don't pretend that you didn't enjoy that..." he muttered, taking the lips captive in his own, the kiss now tender and sweet. Although, it was rather like Jim Moriarty himself. Seemingly tender and sweet to an outsider, yet underneath lay a rather different thing altogether. As the kiss grew deeper, it began to get harder, both fighting for domination. Jim was winning as he pushed Sherlock back down to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, each button was opened with deft fingers. His hands finally pushed it open to reveal Sherlock's chest. He stroked the soft, pearly white chest beneath him as he kissed Sherlock, revelling in his slim, tall shape. He let his hands rub the sides, causing Sherlock to arch his back slightly underneath him. As he did this, an evident hardness pressed against his inner thigh.  
Excitement stirred in the pit of his stomach as he slid the shirt off Sherlock's shoulders and began to unbutton his own, barely taking his lips from the other's.


End file.
